


some of your own advice

by t_dreams



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Frank Castle - Freeform, Karen Page - Freeform, POV Frank Castle, POV Karen Page, Post Blacksmith, Slow Build, The Punisher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_dreams/pseuds/t_dreams
Summary: Frank's back. And he's here to stay.





	some of your own advice

**Author's Note:**

> Took me about two weeks to write this thing. In love with the ship. In love with Jon Bernthal's portrayal of the Punisher.

Six months. Six months since she last saw him on the edge of that roof top. Six months since her life resumed full-speed. Six months and her mind still lingered on Frank Castle.

Her job at the Bulletin was full-time in every way. She was rarely home, her apartment, a pit stop. She finally saved up the money to get herself a new one that was surprisingly spacious despite the low price. Boxes still littered her home, unpacked. It might say something about her unwillingness to let go of the past, but she never dwelled on it too long. 

Her friendship with Matt was rocky at best. Once the anger had simmered down, she found that him being the Daredevil didn’t bother her all that much. The little talk they had over coffee was awkward, but it relieved a bit of the weight on her shoulders once she found herself joking with him. She went out for drinks at Josie’s once or twice a month with Foggy to catch up. She was proud of him, he was the new hotshot lawyer, taking big cases and winning them. 

As for her, she’s been working her ass off and has a permanent case of sore feet ever since she started chasing leads herself. Someone had to do it, and she definitely took matters into her hands. 

She groaned at the scattered files and papers at her desk. She had been following a sex trafficking ring for well over a month now and all her leads are dead ends. The facts don’t add up and the victims are still being taken away. 

She pulls open the bottom drawer of her old desk, digging through old files hoping that she’d find something. But, instead of finding a list of names from a previous stunt she found the skull x-ray of the infamous Punisher Frank Castle.

She sighs and sits back in her chair. It’s been awhile since she’s thought about him. She did think that what he was doing was definitely the most unethical thing possible, but she also knew that Hell’s Kitchen had a need for his… methods.

Ellison knocked on her office door telling her to go home from the night. Staring at her screen for another hour isn’t exactly going to help.

She shrugs her purse over her shoulder and hails a cab.

The three story walk up to her apartment is excruciating as her feet scream for sweet relief. 

She fumbles around with her keys and finally unlocks the door. The inside of her apartment is pitch black as she kicks of her feels, feeling along the wall to flick on the lights.

She turns around and what she sees makes her yelp and grab her .380.

There, in the middle, stood Frank Castle. His large frame taking up all the space. Immediately, there’s a hand on her mouth and she’s pushed roughly against the wall.  
His huge body up against hers.

She breathes hard against his rough, calloused hand as he gently shushes her, surprised by just how gentle he was.

“Sh. Sh. It’s just me.” Once she’s quieted down, he lets go and steps back.

“What the fuck are you doing here Frank.”She spits angrily at him. He doesn't react though, he stays composed except for a raised eyebrow.

She stalks towards him, throwing her purse to the side.

“You were gone for six FUCKING months and you just show up?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry about the Schoonover thing-” He starts apologizing, his gaze on her.

“You think I give a shit about Schoonover right now?” Now, that gets a reaction out of him. He furrows his brows and stares down at the floor trying to figure out what just came out of her mouth.

“Are you angry at the fact that I was gone or the fact that I came back?” His voice was rough and gravelly, as if the words were a struggle to get out.

There’s a tense pause. Where the only sound was Karen’s heavy breathing. His eyes remained steady on hers, she couldn't find the power within her to pull away.  
He just stood there, waiting, watching, reading her like an open book. She guesses that’s why she enjoyed his company so much. He never lied, but he also just knew what needed to be said or what needed to be done just by looking, observing.

She whispers it, and he barely hears it. “That you were gone.” She runs a nervous hand through her hair and walks past him to make some coffee. She knows he’d want a cup, so she doesn't even ask. 

He sits down on a barstool and the only sign physical sign of any emotion is the rhythmic tapping of his trigger finger on the edge of the table.

She lets the silence settle like a blanket over them, the whistle of the coffee machine as loud as a sledgehammer in her home.

“You know. It should be the second one.” He says quietly. “You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t want me back, Page.” A tremor betraying his voice.

She pours the steaming hot coffee into two mugs and hands one to him. 

“Then why are you here?” 

“Two men were trailing you.” He says, anger flaring up inside, he clenches the mug tightly in his fist.

She isn’t shocked. She’s been poking around places she shouldn’t, digging around for classified information that involves dangerous and powerful people. She doesn’t ask whether they are dead or not, she knows the answer to that. She can see it in the taut muscles of his shoulders. In the clench of his fist and the sharp intake of breath he took mentioning the two men. She noticed these things. The small things. The things that mattered most, especially with Frank.

“Do you want some cookies with that?” She saw him relax a bit, relieved she wouldn't have to deal with an even colder side of him. “They’re the ginger snap ones.” 

He smiles a small smile, almost a ghost, recalling the memory of Karen telling him how she hid in the broom closet with her cookies.

“Gosh, Frank Jr. He was trouble, that kid. Shit. He’d- He’d put all those damned cookies in there. Because of that stupid TV show he made me watch with him every Sunday morning. Sesame Street. He was in love with the friggin’ cookie monster. And, God, Lisa would steal them just to get to him.” He starts laughing quietly. Sadness overtaking his handsome features.

She starts giggling quietly at the thought of Frank, the Punisher, being forced onto a couch by a little boy to watch Sesame Street. She looks up at him and sees that look. That look she just doesn’t understand. She’d caught him looking at her like that a handful of times only, and every single time, it made the tips of her ears red and her toes tingle. 

She smiles at him, she likes it when he remembers. She sees a glimpse of who he had been before. Despite what he said, he had a face made for smiling. Even the little ones prove that right. The way his eyes would crinkle at the corners or how he had deep smile lines and dimples. How is eyes would light up when he’d talk about his kids or his wife. She respects that, their memory, the pain that it brings him, the sorrow.

“Tell me more.” She can still feel a bit of the anger simmering within, but she deems it a waste of time. This is more important. He’s more important. He breathes in deeply, debating whether or not he should just leave, get out of her life. But, he doesn’t.

“You know, Maria. She uh, every Sunday, she’d make us a big ass breakfast. Didn’t matter if she was pissed at me, or the kids were annoying her, she always did it. Always.” At first, there was a lot of hesitation, pauses, but once he got going, the stories flowed easily, the smiles showed up more frequently, and laughter happened more often. 

It was with a lighter conscious and a soaring heart that Frank leaves that morning, when the sun was nearly up.

“Goodbye, Frank. Be careful.” She says, sincerely, her hand hovering, deciding against laying a hand on his forearm.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He replies, that look she doesn't understand looking at her. 

His heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway as she slides the door shut.

She knows that asking him about his family was deflection, but it was needed. That man lived with a heart made out of lead and it wasn’t getting any lighter. Tonight he just, felt like he couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about why he came back. Why he came back to her, in particular. She ignored the butterflies floating around in her stomach at the prospect. The Punisher doesn’t love. But maybe Frank Castle does.

 

____________

 

He doesn’t show up on a schedule. He just shows up whenever he wants. Sometimes he’s there before she gets home from work and has takeout and coffee. Sometimes he waits on her fire escape and knocks on the window. On really bad days, she’d get a text that would say to join him on the roof. 

Another six months pass, a rocky six months, but a whole lot better than the six before.

This time she hears a thump on her door she rarely opens it without a gun but she hears him groan a :”It’s me, Ma’am.” 

She swings the door open and finds him leaning heavily against the wall, blood dripping on the door mat.

“Oh my god, Frank.” It’s not the first time she’s seen him bloody, but it leaves a pang in her chest every time.

“Bathtub.” With that he practically topples onto her and she barely keeps her knees from buckling under his weight. She half drags half pulls Frank into her bathtub and reaches for her first aid kit that has been equipped with more than the basic since she started dealing with dangerous crowds. 

“Take this off” She starts gingerly pulling at his heavy duty jacket, hoping he doesn't have a shoulder injury.

“Dislocated shoulder, popped it back in.” He mutters while helping her. She gags a little.

His black shirt is soaked in blood. She sees that he has a hard time lifting his left arm up and just goes to cut it.

“Here, this’ll be easier.” She cuts down the front of his shirt revealing three large gashes on his right side and a deep bullet graze on his left.

She has to look away for a few moments, willing herself not to vomit, keeping whatever Indian takeout she ate earlier in her stomach.

“All four of these are going to need stitches and I’m not good at them.”

“It’s alright, Ma’am, it won’t hurt any more than when I got’em.” She sighs at the absurdity of the situation, but exits the bathroom to get herself a bottle of whiskey to steady her hands.

“Ok, I’m good.” He chuckles at the wince she makes after drinking a large sip.

She grabs the antiseptic wipes and gently passes over them. She knows how much this hurts, but Frank goes through without complaint, only a wince and groan every once in awhile to indicate any discomfort. 

“You know, you’re only the second person to receive the Karen Page stitches treatment.” She declares, after preparing the thread and sterilizing the needle.

“Was the first on Red?” He asks, gruffly.

“Ya,” she laughs,” he uh, cut himself with a knife while trying to cook.” She starts stitching, earning a wince from Frank. “Sorry.”

“ S’alright. So you didn’t hold on with both hands?” Recalling the conversation in the diner.

She chuckles sadly, but pleased with herself that her hands aren’t shaking as much. “It’s hard to hold on with both hands when he’s actively in love with someone else.”

She could feel him tense under her hands, his breathing coming out a little harder.  
“Well, Altar boy’s an idiot.” She’s taken aback by his statement, her hands stilling. Does that mean?... No, it can’t be.

She continues to do the stitches quietly, trying to do them as neat as possible. 

After maybe an hour and a half she’s done all four.

She grabs some gauze and some tape and starts bandaging all the cuts making sure they don’t irritate his skin. The whole time he’s just watching her with that look she doesn't understand. The one that makes the tips of her ears red and her toes curl. 

Once done , she stands up and grabs a towel and wets it with warm water. Hey, he asked her to take care of him and she wasn't going to do this half-assed. 

“Ma’am, I can do that on my own.” His dark eyes watching her movements.

“You wanted me to help, I’m helping.”

She gently swipes at his forehead, wiping the blood away. Running the cloth over the sides of his nose, treading extremely gently under his eyes where there are two bruises that are as dark as night. She goes over his cheekbones and the swell of his lip. 

She couldn’t help but admire how good he looked, despite the bruises, the cuts and the blood. If he noticed the sharp intake of breathe, he probably took it as a reaction to all the gore. But it wasn’t. By the time, she got to going over his chest, he had practically fallen asleep over her shoulder. She liked the steady weight of him, it reassured her, comforted her. Is that what he’d become? The Punisher, the man who killed criminals mercilessly was now dozing off on her shoulder in the confines of her bathroom. He had become her failsafe, her life line and she couldn't help but wonder if she was his.

Once she was done, she gently shook him awake. “Take a shower, I’ll be back with some clothes. Towels are in the cabinet on top.” 

He stared at her with a mix of confusion and bewilderment before she left. 

She scoured her closet for an XXL shirt she really liked sleeping in hoping it’d fit the broad expanse of his shoulders. She closed her eyes in relief when she found a pair of men’s sweatpants at the bottom of her drawers that could've belonged to a one night stand. 

When she heard the water stop, she knocked on the door and earned a grunt in response. 

He opens the door half way, steam escaping the gap. She sadly catches herself staring. He was shirtless before, but now she noticed. His broad chest, the chiseled muscles and the protruding collar bones. He was holding a towel around his waist only showing off the V of his hips. 

 

She clears her throat, seeing him with a smug smirk on his lips. “Here’s the only stuff i could find.”

“Ma’am, I don’t wear sweatpants.” She rolls her eyes.

“You’re going to have to tough it tonight, Marine.” And he smiles at that, a small one, but a smile nonetheless. She beams with pride. He takes the clothing from her and shuts the door. 

It’s well past 4 AM but she goes to make another pot of fresh coffee. She was going to have to be in the office in five hours, might as well make one now. She hears him scuffling around in the small bathroom. 

She hears the soft padding of his feet on the wooden floors. He walks up to the counter, rubbing a rough hand over his short hair. She couldn’t help but admire the slightly too tight fit of his shirt. No shame in that, he looked like a man who worked out… even if it was for his… nightly activities.

She clears her throat and hands him a mug, he hums appreciatively. She had a million questions buzzing around in her mind, but she knew that if she asked the wrong one, he’d back out and leave. 

“How?” A a bit of tension leaves his body, now that she’s asked whatever she’d wanted to ask. This was ok, this was safe territory, he could work with this. 

“There were more than I expected, but for once they were smart about it. Lined up real nice and shit.” He sips a little bit of his coffee. 

“Hmm.” Is all she responds with. There’s not much else to say. She knows what job he was working on. She’s been keeping tabs on him and he’s been very kindly keeping her updated. He convinces himself it’s to give her leads, but it’s mostly to warn her and keep her out of harm’s way, even if the danger comes to Karen Page, or vice versa. 

“Have you seen Red lately?” He asks, catching her off guard. Her eyebrows raise slightly at the sudden change of subject and how he’s suddenly so… talkative. Normally, she always asked the question and he answered with grunts, curt nods and the occasional Yes, Ma’am, No Ma’am, Please, Mrs. Page…

“No, I haven’t. We haven’t really… Is he bothering you?” Sh. e knows that they bump into each other during their escapades, and probably gets a lecture just like her.

“Ya. He gave me the new shiner. Fuckin’ Altar Boy.” He sees the flickers of emotion pass through her face, anger, surprisingly, he still can’t wrap is head around the fact that Karen even cares enough to be angry, and then, the most adorable little snort passes through her lips. A giggle is pulled out of the cute blonde and she tries to hide it with the back of her hand.

“Sorry, it’s just. Altar Boy.” She snickers, she knows she’s being ridiculous. She’s heard him call Matt that before, it’s just the way he says it that was so funny. As if, saying the words insulted him. 

“Ya, he was up on the roofs with me, his catholic righteous ass. No killing tonight, Frank.” He says, doing the most incredible impression Karen has ever witnessed. She’s gaping at him with her mouth wide open and blue eyes shining bright. And then she busts out laughing. Honest to god laughter, that resonates deep in his chest. She’s clutching her stomach, tears of happiness threatening to spill.

“Oh my god, do it- do it again” She asks, now staring at him intently and giggling like a little girl.

God, her smile. And just to see her laugh again, just to see a smile grace those beautiful lips, he gets up, and pretends to be Matt Murdock.

“You know he’s all - Frank, not tonight. And he does the thing with the stick.” And mimics the movement and now Karen is laughing so hard she’s fallen off the chair and clutching her stomach and while it dies down Frank’s just looking at her. The way she’s learned to like, the way that sent tingles down her spine. 

And for a while they stay silent. Frank’s deep in thought, his eyes trailing over her. She’s become his lifeline, his salvation. She’s this bright white light in the consuming darkness that is his life. Lately, he’s been teetering off the edge. On the face of a cliff, fighting to find purchase. But, she, this stubborn, smart, gorgeous, beautiful strong woman was the only thing keeping him together.

And that realisation hadn’t hit him like a truck, it didn’t drop kick him in the chest and hit him the face like one of Red’s fucking batons. It just was. She just became the thing he needed. Maybe, he should've seen it coming, the way he always came back, should've been some sort of indication. But, she just slipped into whatever was left of his life so seamlessly.

And he liked it, no, he loved it. And he wasn’t supposed too. He said it that night too, I won’t ever feel that again. But, shit, he fucking does. Every time he sees her strawberry blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes. Every time she walks in after a hard day of work and makes him coffee anyways. Every time she makes him remember and every time she’s there. 

Suddenly, she’s really close to him, in his face. “Hey, where did you go?” She asks, and she says it with so much emotion, so much kindness, like someone who cared. And who in their right mind would care about him, no one. But, she did, and that’s all that mattered.

He looks up and stares straight into her eyes. Then, he looks up at the ceiling, sending a prayer up to Maria. Deep down, he knew that she’d be happy for him.  
He looked back at Karen, his Karen and slips a rough calloused hand onto her cheek and slides into the back of her hair. She leans into it with the softest sigh that he swears sounds like angel’s wings. 

“Tell me to stop.” He says, his voice low, rough and so raw. She opens her eyes again, slowly. He oh so gently cups her face into his hands and rubs a thumb over her cheekbones. “Tell me to go away and that I’m bad for you.” And all she does is look at him with those sparkling doe eyes and she smiles.

“Never.” And he smiles back, and it doesn’t feel foreign anymore, not with her. He pulls her to him and places the gentlest of kisses to her rosy pink lips. And it’s everything he’s imagined it to be. They’re soft and warm, and she feels so, so real. And he can’t stop. It’s soft and innocent, but it means so much, it’s pouring any words left unsaid and any emotions left untold. 

And maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d take his own advice… he’d hold on, hold on with both hands and never let her go

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed ! Comment your thoughts and leave a kudos :)


End file.
